Wednesday, September 21, 2016

It’s never
a great sign when you finish a book and then immediately scan the inside cover
to check if you picked up a mistakenly abridged version. Yet there I was,
scanning over the last page of Steinbeck’s The
Red Pony*, wondering what the hell happened.

I was
comforted by the fact that the book is indeed “abnormal” in the sense that it’s
serialized fiction. Back in the day, literature commonly came to fruition via
installments published in magazines. Kind of like how you’d experience weekly
television programming today. We should bring this back immediately, but that’s beside the point.

The Red Pony circulated as individual
chapters from 1933-1936, and was published in its entirety as a novella in
1937. The first chapter is by far the most compelling. A young boy encounters
responsibility for the first time, which is quickly and unexpectedly followed
by his first encounter with mortality. The second chapter loses steam, focusing
on a mysterious man who, despite his shroud of inexplicability, fails to hold
my interest. The third chapter is slightly redeeming; it’s literally and
figuratively pregnant with promise. The last chapter is rulllll depressing. It
complicatedly condemns nostalgia and reminds us how much it sucks to get old.

Per usual,
Steinbeck reveals his hard on for manifest destiny narratives, speaking of
early 20th century America in a way that’s equally full of potential
and disappointment. I love this about him, and I came into this work expecting
a certain level of quality. Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling it. I reviewed The Pearl
a while back and praised Steinbeck for his lyrical rhythm and mastery of gender
complexities. I also reviewedEast of Edenand applauded his ability to
carefully unravel a storyline and keep me attentive for 500+ pages. I mentally
reviewed Of Mice and Men, and
remembered how oddly gratifying it was to feel simultaneously sad and utterly
complete.

Where does The Red Pony fit in, then? It’s simply
not worth reading. When you have these other Steinbeck masterpieces at your
fingertips, why bother with a story that’s a bit of a trudge to get through and
unfulfilling in the end? Certainly, some characters pique my interest, but nothing is sufficiently developed. Perhaps this would be better as a
longer-form novel. Either way, I give it 2 out of 5 camel humps.

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

I’m trying
to act more adult-like, so I’ve started organizing the Notes section in my
iPhone by consolidating ideas into one header. When I read a book, I jot down
things I could use for this blog, and I write the title at the top. I recently
read Philip Roth’s The Plot Against
America*. You can imagine how it felt to be jammed next to a zillion people
on the Subway, casually opening a Note conspicuously labeled “The Plot Against
America”. The Middle Eastern guy next to me felt at ease with the knowledge
that I was now the most apparently threatening person on the commute.

As a novel,
The Plot Against America rewrites
history to explore what would have happened to America/the World if we had remained
neutral during World War II. The interventionists argue that as a superpower,
we can’t just turn the other way as Hitler spreads fascism and exterminates
millions of people. They go further to predict that doing nothing will
eventually come back to bite them, because Hitler’s rule will continue to
extend until he amasses enough influence to take over America as well. On the
other hand, the isolationists maintain that America just came out of World War
I, and we shouldn’t needlessly sacrifice our men in “Europe’s war”.

The logic
behind both sides is obviously still alive and well. Ideally, we could find a balance
between protecting our own and standing up for human rights. As cheesy as it
sounds, I consider myself a citizen of the world rather than an American
citizen. It is completely and totally arbitrary that I was born here; to
pretend that I’m somehow inherently better or more entitled than citizens of
other nations is silly and mean. Some might even say that line of thinking
places you in a basket of deplorables. It’s one thing to be proud of your
country; it’s another to remain blind to the fact that others don’t necessarily
have that privilege, through no fault of their own.

Roth does
an excellent job illustrating how the us vs. them mentality has very real
consequences. His story is steeped in historical accuracy, and it is inspired
by his experiences as a Jew growing up in 1940’s New Jersey. In his imagined
world, Charles Lindbergh is nominated to office in 1940 in lieu of FDR.
Lindbergh was an actual person, propelled to fame as an accomplished aviator,
who expressed Anti-Semitic sentiments. In the novel, he is portrayed as an
openly bigoted candidate who publicly denounces the Jewish population and gets away
with it (these parallels are too easy, really). Once in office, he initiates a
series of reforms that so gradually marginalizes the American Jewish
population, it’s almost imperceptible to those not paying attention. For
example, Homestead 42 is a government-sanctioned program that moves Jewish
employees of specific corporations into other parts of the country. On paper,
it claims to encourage assimilation and American unity. In reality, the
redistribution effectively dismantles their electoral strength and strips them
of communal support. Hindsight is 20/20, and at the time, most of America
bought into the propaganda that carefully packaged the program as a *good
opportunity* for Jewish families. When said families were like um, nay, this is a very bad thing, and I
happen to like where I currently live, the rest of America viewed them as
ungrateful/whiny, and reverted to any and all available Jewish stereotypes.

Plot-wise,
I am very into this. I’m not a huge historical fiction girl, but this is a
great blend of semi-autobiographical elements + horrific historical facts +
inventive details that are realistic enough to make you uncomfortable. In terms
of writing style, Roth strikes an interesting cord by juxtaposing the
narrator’s age with the narrator’s voice. Roth speaks in the past tense,
recalling his childhood upbringing (and re-envisioning it). He is eloquent AF,
which is a bit jarring considering the events are happening to a young boy.
Roth carefully mixes a mature, retrospective intelligence with the youthful
innocence of his main character at the time. The story isn’t told in childlike
words, like in Room; it’s told
complexly—with big words—without feeling overly contrived.

All of
these things sound good…is there any bad? My biggest complaint is that it ends
prematurely. I want more closure, and from a creative standpoint, I feel like
he leaves several intriguing narrative threads on the table. The book is
relatively long (400 pages), and the fact that I wasn’t ready for it to be over
is indicative that he could have teased the story further and ended with more
finality. Fortunately, what is there is thought provoking enough to sustain me.
What happens when a corrupt/biased media dominates public perception? How can
something as evil as genocide take root? What are the dangers of neglecting
underrepresented populations? I’m a fan of Roth’s ability to transform history
and maintain relevancy, and I’ll dock one-hump for his fizzled-out ending. Thus,
The Plot Against America receives 4
out of 5 camel humps.

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Lyndsay West

About Me

I’m a 25 year old lover of reading and writing. I was born and raised in Dallas, Texas, and I graduated from the University of Virginia in 2013. Currently, I live in New York City making my writing mark on the world via freelance work. Other interests include religious studies, philosophy, psychology, dancing, and live music.

Follow my twitter: @humpdayhardback

*Words underlined/highlighted in red are links to websites with more info on the topic.